


I Crave ...

by lycanus1



Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Angst and Feels, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 04:17:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5991421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lycanus1/pseuds/lycanus1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dagonet's views on love, yearning and desire ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Crave ...

**Author's Note:**

> "Crave" - i) to desire intensely; long ( for ); ii) to need greatly or urgently; iii) to beg or plead for. 
> 
> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, setting etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plots are my own. I'm in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise, in this case, Jerry Bruckheimer & Touchstone Pictures. No copyright infringement is intended.

**I Crave ... **

**_Dagonet's point of view:_ **

I've known and loved him as a friend for almost fifteen years, but what he's unaware of is that I've been _in_ love with him for the best part of that time.

I've cared and protected him since the first day we met and seen him develop and mature from a small, slight, wild fourteen year old boy to the confident, assured - yet still wiry - man that he is today.

At first and being the elder by three years, I saw him as a younger, more reckless sibling who needed looking out for and guidance. Although mostly quiet and often brooding, he had a sly, mischievous, playful streak and I often had my hands full trying to keep him out of trouble. I loved him as a brother ...

As we grew older, my cousin and most constant and loyal companion, Bors fell head over heels for the tavern owner's daughter. And who in all honesty could blame him ? Vanora was an exceptionally beautiful, flame-haired girl, a year or so younger than myself. Fiery, passionate and so spirited, she ran rings around him. But she was extremely intelligent and witty, possessing a very kind heart and loving nature and to Bors' and everyone else's astonishment, she clearly adored him. So, it was only natural for him to spend most of his free time with Van and although I was often left to my own devices, I was truly happy for them both.

But my increasing loneliness didn’t go unnoticed by my young "sibling." He began to continuously seek me out, drawing me out of my isolation. I can't say we talked much - neither of us were much good at it. We'd end up scouting and patrolling together or sometimes even go hunting or swimming, but more often than not, we'd both be seen sitting in companionable silence either on the garrison's ramparts or outside the stables, just cleaning our weapons or tending to our horses. That's when I realized he was my best friend and I loved him for it ...

It must’ve been after he'd turned eighteen that I became aware of how my feelings for him had changed. I don't think he remembers it, but _I_ do. As if it were yesterday ...

It had been a fine, summer's evening and Gawain and I’d been sparring vigorously, when _he_ arrived back from one of his numerous patrols. I'd gone to the bath-house and was lying back in the marble pool, dozing, as the hot, herbal infused water began to work its magic on my aching sinews. I was roused by the sound of the door opening and the soft padding of feet on the cool tiled floor. Idly, I opened my eyes and saw him standing there, a clean, white bath sheet slung low around his lean hips, contrasting sharply with his tanned skin. He had his back to me, his head bowed wearily and I was struck by his sheer beauty.

It was as if I were seeing him properly for the first time in my life and I was enthralled ...

Long, dark, braided hair masked his noble profile, concealing the tattooed stripes on his cheeks and his ever-observant, striking golden eyes. I heard him sigh deeply and he raised his head abruptly, causing the wild mane to fall back slightly, revealing the neatly trimmed beard that covered his firm jawline. He was all sleek, toned lines of lean, powerful muscle. How I'd failed to notice the change in him, I'll never know ... But my treacherous body was all too aware of it and hardened with desire. All I do know is, from the moment I laid eyes on his half-naked beauty, I wanted him desperately and I continue to do so. I haven't wanted anyone else since. He’s ensnared and captivated my heart, body and soul. I'm his - _only his_ \- and no one else will be good enough for me. Ever. That's when I knew I'd begun to fall for him and that there would be no going back.

The moment I _knew_ I was in love with him, happened a few months later ...

**_XXXXX_ **

Tired, I left the other knights in the tavern and returned to my quarters. My brethren had been drinking steadily for a while and I hadn't felt like company. It wouldn't take long for Lancelot - who took far too much pleasure in provoking them - to start annoying Gawain and for Galahad and _him_ to be at each other's throats - again ! Frankly, I wasn't up to dealing with their bickering and if I'm truthful, I was fed up of being taken for granted that I’d always be there to act as peacemaker.

I remember lying on my bed staring blindly at the ceiling, when I heard a frantic knocking on my chamber door. Softly cursing the interruption, I brushed aside the furs which covered the mattress and reluctantly went to answer it. At the time, I wore only my brown leather breeches, so I grabbed a tunic and shrugged it on, leaving it unfastened, before slowly swinging the oak door open.

To my surprize, _he_ stumbled into the room and suddenly fell awkwardly against me. I instinctively reached out to steady him and in doing so, immediately smelled the ale upon him. I sighed heavily in disappointment and said, "You're drunk, Tris. Go to bed."

He slowly raised his head to look up at me and as he did so, I immediately knew something wasn't right and using my left arm to support him, I tilted his head toward the light to take a better look. Tristan flinched and attempted to turn his head away, but I held him firmly yet gently.

"Gods, man ! What happened to you ?" I kept my touch light against his pale, bruised and bloody skin and despite the injuries and the fact that he was both dazed and winded, he rubbed his bearded cheek, cat-like, against my callused palm. His honey-gold eyes were drowsy. It was clear he was fighting to keep them open and was failing miserably.

"Tristan ! Look at me ... Open your eyes, y’daft bugger. Did you hit your head at all ? Did you pass out ?"

His eyes reluctantly flickered open and he slowly shook his head in denial.

"Got jumped," he rasped. "Two new Roman recruits followed me back here ... got me when my guard was down ... Though if you think I look bad, you should see them !" I knew then he wasn't himself when he gave a sheepish grin instead of his customary smirk.

"Please tell me they're still alive ... that you didn't kill them," I groaned as I helped him stagger to the large bed. He slumped against me and I was fortunate that he failed to hear my sharp intake of breath, as I felt the heat of his strong, lean frame seep through my thin tunic, warming me. I also noted his right arm was curled protectively around his ribs and that he winced as he perched on the edge of the bed.

"I was … feeling lenient. They'll live. May wish they didn't, but they'll survive ..."

I could only shake my head. I knew the recruits had been lucky. Had our Scout been sober and alert, they wouldn’t have been so fortunate.

"Show me the rest of your wounds."

Tristan grudgingly complied. The facial injuries were superficial and would soon heal, as would the defensive wound on his inner left palm. The same couldn’t be said for his torso, which was covered in numerous large bruises, some which already looked livid and painful and I could tell instantly that he had at least two broken ribs.

"Your ribs will need binding," I said quietly, "You should go to a heale- "

" _No !_ " Tristan's reply was vehement. "I'd prefer you do it, Dag. No one else - _you_ ! Please ... ?"

I rubbed a weary hand over the day old growth of hair on my shaven scalp. "Tris- "

"No !" Although bloody, battered and far from sober, the Aorsi's proud, handsome profile was resolute and the tone of his husky voice could only be classed as stubborn. " _Only_ _you_ ... I mean it, Dag. I trust you."

I looked at him and was surprized to find his beautiful golden eyes pleading with me. _Pleading !_ Tristan was so proud, he never begged in his life ...

"Take off your tunic," I muttered gruffly.

"Dag ?"

"Just do as I say, man," I growled, clearly at the end of my tether and all too aware of how close he sat to me. I quickly rose to my feet to put distance between us and began to search for something to bind his ribs. "Take it off or if you're going to waste my bloody time - leave !"

Mutely, he shrugged off the olive-green tunic and winced at the pain caused by the sudden motion, before glaring at me defiantly. "Well ? What are you waiting for, Dag ? Get on with it !"

I scowled at him as I sat beside him on the edge of the bed, clutching the bindings so tightly that my knuckles turned white. His proximity awakened my desire for him and I struggled hard against it.

"Sit up for me ..." To my dismay, my voice sounded huskier than normal and my hands were trembling. I felt nothing but relief that he was still unaware of my feelings for him. He complied and rested his right forearm on my left shoulder, his head bowed forward and his dark hair brushed lightly against my cheek.

He breathed deeply and raggedly as I carefully bound his ribs and I couldn't help being aware of his familiar, muskily attractive scent. Apprehensively, I licked my lower lip and shifted. As I did so, my tunic gaped provocatively, revealing my torso. Tristan suddenly swayed and braced himself by resting a hand on my bare chest. My breath hitched as I felt his warm palm lie directly over my madly racing heart before idly trailing down my taut abdomen to rest on my left thigh.

Up close like this, Tristan was strikingly handsome and yet again, I found myself fighting against the powerful attraction I felt for him. Extremely flustered, I hurried up with my task and cautiously tried to pull away from him, then studied him carefully for any signs of discomfort.

"Are you in any pain ?" I finally asked, noting a strange expression on his normally impassive face.

Tristan shook his head, his eyes unusually bright and inscrutable. Slowly, he removed his hand from my thigh and raised it upwards to lightly trace gentle fingers down the vicious scar which ran down my face. Bemused, I froze and found myself holding my breath.

"Not in pain," he finally replied, his husky voice sounded thick. Then suddenly, before I was aware of his intentions, he leaned towards me and swiftly claimed my mouth with his. I felt his tongue gently brush the seam of my lips, seeking access and I was powerless to resist him. I couldn’t refuse Tristan anything at that moment. My lips parted of their own accord, granting him his wish.

It was the purest, sweetest, yet most passionate kiss I'd ever experienced and for a short time, I allowed myself to become totally lost in his embrace. His lips were firm, sensual and full of promise and I was completely at Tristan's mercy ...

Then, all too quickly the spell was broken. He'd shifted his body to get closer to mine and the sudden movement made him hiss with pain. It was enough to make me recoil and I quickly found myself by the door, having put enough distance between us. All I could feel was shame and disgust with myself for taking advantage of Tristan when he clearly wasn't himself. Seeing the stunned confusion on his face left me feeling distressed. So I did what most people do under similar circumstances. I grabbed my boots and a thick, woollen cloak and fled ...

To my utter dismay, Tristan sought me out the following day and I panicked. Flustered, I had no idea how to behave around him and avoided his mild, curious gaze. Fortunately, he had no recollection of the previous night's events and I wasn't sure whether I should be relieved or insulted by it. All _he_ remembered was that he'd been in a fight with two Roman soldiers and much to his glee, had beaten the shit out of them.

We easily fell back into our close friendship and somehow I managed to bury the memory of that mind-blowing, devastatingly heated kiss deep in my heart along with my tempestuous feelings for him. I realized then that I loved him, not only as a brother and a friend, but as a lover.

**_XXXXX_ **

Eleven years on, I _still_ feel the same way about him. I can't help it ... I adore Tristan with every bone of my body and every fibre of my being. His presence in my life is as vital as the air I breathe. I want _and_ need him - without Tris I'd be lost - completely and utterly lost ...

We are similar in many ways, yet different. We're both quiet men. Loners.

I'm a lone wolf because of my affliction - I'm cursed by shyness.

Tristan seeks solitude because he prefers the company of his destrier and his hawk. He has neither the time for nor the patience with people and can often seem a cold, sarcastic, terrifyingly vicious bastard with a cruel, biting tongue and a quick sly wit. He _can_ be all of those things, and to people who don't know him as I do, he can appear as evil incarnate.

But there's another side to him, the one I alone am able to see. Tristan has wisdom and knowledge beyond his years and beneath that defensive shell of his, he has a warm, generous heart. He's fiercely loyal to his friends and those he loves and is one of the most noble, honest and courageous men I have the privilege to know.

For those reasons alone, I love him deeply and passionately. He's completely and blissfully unaware of my feelings and will continue to be so, as my shyness will not allow me to tell him. For Tris to know that I crave him ...

That I adore him more than life itself ...

**Finis**


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